


A fantasy called Santa Fe

by Maura_Moo



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Anxious David Jacobs, Bisexual David Jacobs, Emotions, F/M, How Do I Tag, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jack Kelly Being an Idiot, Jewish David Jacobs, Original Character-centric, Platonic Relationships, Song: The Truth About the Moon (Newsies), The Moon - Freeform, i dont know what to tag this is, please read this, scab jack kelly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28233936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maura_Moo/pseuds/Maura_Moo
Summary: “If we disband the union-”  The words still rang loud and vicious in Cora’s ears, Even as she crawled up the ladder, taking each step slowly under her bare feet metal well-worn and still warmed by the July sun. She had watched it set slowly, casting deeper shadows across the dents of Medda’s face, well worn with age and tinted with a sadness that Cora couldn’t quite understand. She had remembered the older women telling her that Jack would come back because “The newsies are family. Family always comes back together.” Somewhere in the sea of feelings, Cora knew medda was trying her best to comfort her but for the first time since they met, Cora couldn’t find faith in her words.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Original Female Character(s), Jack Kelly & Original Character(s)





	A fantasy called Santa Fe

“If we disband the union-” The words still rang loud and vicious in Cora’s ears, Even as she crawled up the ladder, taking each step slowly under her bare feet metal well-worn and still warmed by the July sun. She had watched it set slowly, casting deeper shadows across the dents of Medda’s face, well worn with age and tinted with a sadness that Cora couldn’t quite understand. She had remembered the older women telling her that Jack would come back because “The newsies are family. Family always comes back together.” Somewhere in the sea of feelings, Cora knew medda was trying her best to comfort her but for the first time since they met, Cora couldn’t find faith in her words. 

Even now as she stared at the moon, rising like a tired mother coming to bathe her children in the lullaby of sleep, she hunted the dark sky for any form of facts or realism in the upsides of impractical lies. She knew the moon. There was no need to hunt for what it was saying or doing. The moon illuminated by the sun manages to pull the waves of the sea as easily as Les pulls on her hand. The moon, illuminated by the sun’s rays, is her only friend as she stands, leaning against the walls of the penthouse, staring out at Manhattan silently wishing for her friend’s to come home. “I know the truth about da moon,” She told it, eyes narrow and face neutral. Her voice quakes slightly, she sounds unsure. 

Facts were all she knew. “The facts are black and white-'' the words die on her tongue and her shoulders sag forwards. “But yet..I can’t think of one while watchin it tonight.” Green eyes drop ashamed to the floor, watching idly as couples stroll under her feet, blissfully unaware of the family falling apart like crumbling fall leaves just inches away from them. She tries not to linger on the bitterness that soaks through her skin and poisons her mind but the image of Jack standing with his hand out-stretched haunts her vision. It makes her chest ache and eyes burn. 

“I saw the words all fly away-” anger burns her words and they scald her mouth and stab her lips with blood that she licks away before any visible eyes can see. She longs to remember what Jack had said before. Before him sold his friends out for nothing more than five bucks. She tried to find his comforting words during the strike or the man that told her that he’d keep her safe. Or the brave union leader. Not the pitiful wannabe cowboy, paid off to betray his brothers for the foe. Her shoulders sag and early morning tears brew like raindrops as bruised-knuckled hands sag as if trying to grab onto the last traces of Jack. 

Her Jack

Their Jack. 

There was none and she let her eyes close. Tears are warm against her cold face but they sting like they were sharp knives carving deep wounds into her face. “so fast so far” her tears reflect the stars off her face and they hold their stardust, they hold the words until they drip off her chin and melt away in the chilly air. “till every letter every number  
that’s burned into a star.” 

Cora swallows her tears, forcing them away from the corners of her eyes with a swipe of a fist. Blood still lingers, cracked and dry, deep under the curves of her nails and a twisted part of her wishes, it was Jack’s. So at least he could hurt somewhat like they were. She grips her fists hard enough that the bruises stand out like the red roses in the flower in her mothers garden. Everything ached a dull pain that muted the sting of her heart. 

“And was the moon especially bright?” There’s suddenly nothing in her voice, she’s turned her eyes back to stare at the sky, hoping against foolish hope that she’d find some comfort in the vastness. That she’ll find something to stop her from feeling so small and insignificant in the world. She stares at the moon like it's an old friend whose face she can’t place. A blurry figure from a safer past. It just stares back before hiding behind a cloud, Cora can barely manage a sickened chuckle. Even the thing that helps her the most hides away from its crimes. 

“I really can’t recall….” Her legs tremble under her bare weight and she’s not sure if the cold has stolen her strength or if Jack’s phantom hands were shoving her to pray. She grinds her teeth and grips a hold of the wall, yelping when her knees crash against the metal poles, she soaks in the throbbing- the same dull ache from her childhood, the same stinging of split knees and spit blood at Newsies Square. Pools of darkened red or speckles of black, reflecting back failed rebellion. 

Facts. Cora knew facts. She knew the truth. Sure, not the truth about her but she knew the truth of the world. She knew the truth of war and the truth of the moon. She knew there was no heartbreak on the moon, no fear or loss or anger. No broken families and two missing bodies. Just vastness and stones; no water, no atmosphere.

No life. 

But facts didn’t matter now. For the first time since clinging to the truth about the moon, the facts of the matter didn’t matter at all. Because this was not a fact. Jack was somewhere, in clothes that weren’t his. Dressed in thick woken fabrics stained with the spilt blood of his brothers. 

Her legs give way under the weight of everything. Of the hum of childish excitement in the air of the theatre, of the first day in Medda’s theatre...of the look of broken betrayal in Davey’s soaked blue eyes. Of the pressure of her heart, dragging her down through the penthouse onto the streets. She could walk, to search the places where they were, to collect the sections of the Jack Kelly the newsies knew and stick them back together until he’s back with them, fighting. 

But it’s late and dark and unsafe to search the streets. So she’ll search through the memories that have gone, turned sour and mouldy at the edges like the stale bread sitting heavy in her spinning stomach. She tries to deny the fact that Jack scabbing has hurt them, that this inside lead hunting season isn’t terrifying even the bravest of the Brooklyn boys. She can try all of that but it’s useless. So she lingers on the tangled mess of emotions. Tugging at strings and ribbons until they form sentences. 

Sentences that spill furious reds of anger and deep blues of sadness and sour purples which makes her eyes sting and headache. The moon wraps her in a blanket, but it just feels heavy and suffocating against her trembling frame. “Let me be someone different from me,” she begged, fists pressing into her temples until she could count her pulse. “From now on?” 

“No” she whispers, unable to fight anymore. She had fought enough. 

In the dark shadows creep in; phantom faces peering in through the windows, phantom shadows dancing just out her eyeline against the patchy metal floor, the rustle of trees moving, speaking the unspeakable grief. 

Highlighted by the moon, Cora tries to pull more facts to her. Hoping that they’ll make her feel like the lies she learned tonight. 

The wind picks up a pencil, stabbing it into her bare feet. 

She takes it in her hands, twirling the stained wood between her fingers until it captures the moon. The moon that’s meant to be so big and yellow in Santa Fe. 

The moon that’s meant to be a thousand times bigger in Santa Fe. 

The moon that holds Jack’s wonder and pulls winding stories about Santa Fe out his mouth.

The moon that lets this dime-novel cowboy fall so deeply into this pit of lies.

This picture shows a fantasy called Santa Fe. 

“The moon is bigger in Santa Fe” she mocks, gripping the paintbrush between her hands. 

Warm hatred washes over her, feeding strength to her legs as she stands. She stares at the moon with furious eyes and a heaving chest. The paintbrush groans in her hands, yelling for her tight grip to loosen. It splinters against her palms, as sharp as her words. “Fly away Santa Fe!” 

Her fingers loosen and the wood falls from her hands, the clatter of them hitting the sidewalk muted by her ramblings, quiet but still venomous with ire. “you’re the seed  
of a dream, not a plan- oh sure! Lovely dream.” Sarcasm coated words tremble past her lips, “for a boy. Not a man” 

Another quick shove of her hands dislodges the tears from her eyes. They sit clear and glistening in the grey moonlight. “At least I don’t shed many tears, down here in my cocoon” she wraps her arms around herself. “where I’m protected by my facts” 

She stares at the moon, emotionless and drained. “Like the truth about the moon,” if someone stared at her, they’d say she's smile as she whispers “Latin name Luna  
lovely name-” 

There’s a slight crash of footsteps behind her, hands grip the handlebars, as she turns. “Jack?” 

Davey stands red-eyed and half-smiling as he stares at her. His frame is hunched over and small. She blinks at him heart-broken before he just opens his arms and captures her as she falls, a sobbing mess of fear in his arms. 

They sit huddled in each other's warmth until she’s still in his arms and the cold pulls goosebumps disappearing up his undershirt. “C’mon, lets getcha inside” she runs a comforting hand up his arm, silently giggling when he rubs the sleep from his eyes. 

“It’s only temporary, y’know.” He whispers as they climb down the tired metal ladder. An eyebrow and silence is his answer. “Hate. it’s only temporary, but friends-” 

He closes the window behind him and crawls back into his bunk, letting Cora fall comfortable and safe in his arms. “Friends may flee.” 

She listens to his breathing even out and her eyes drift to the newspaper clipping, pinned against the wall. “Let em ditch’ya” 

Cora closes her eyes and buries her face in his chest, listening to the breathing of her best friend and letting the trails of sleep pull her into it alongside him. 

Everything in life may be temporary.

At least Davey will be gone forever.


End file.
